Written in Blood (previously Spotlight on 24)
by AlphaOmegaPsi
Summary: In hindsight, going into the woods at night to try and find a dead body probably wasn't one of Stiles' smarter moves. AU, werewolf!Stiles, werewolf!Allison, werewolf!Lydia, Hunter!Derek
1. Chapter 1

In hindsight, going into the woods at night to try and find a dead body probably wasn't one of Stiles' smarter moves.

Going in alone, though...that was the real failure of his intelligence.

"Oh, man, Stilinski, you've really done it this time," he muttered to himself, clutching his flashlight tightly in his shaking hands. He jumped at the sound of leaves rustling behind him and giggled nervously, wetting his lips with a pink tongue as his eyes darted from side to side.

He should have just gone to Scott's house and asked him to go with him. His best friend might not have jumped at the chance to go creeping around in the woods at night, but Stiles could be very persuasive when he wanted to. But he'd been too pumped up on adrenaline and Adderall and coffee, and he just wanted to go, go, go. Now he was seriously regretting that decision.

What kind of idiot was he, anyway? Going into the woods at night to find a dead body. A dead body that somebody murdered. Someone that could still be on the loose for all he knew. Somebody that could be right behind him right now. He whirled around and shined his flashlight around frantically, but all he found were more trees. That didn't really do much to ease his worries because have you seen trees at night? Creepy as hell.

"Okay. This was a bad idea," he muttered to himself, fumbling for his keys in his jacket pocket. "We're just going to go back to the Jeep, drive home, curl up in bed, and forget this night ever happened. Yeah, that's what we're going to do." He'd only taken a step in what he hoped was the direction of his Jeep when he heard it.

The unmistakable sound of a deep, animal growl.

He didn't even pause to look behind him, just ran blindly through the forest in the direction he hoped he'd find safety. He didn't know what was making that growl, but he did know that he didn't want it to catch him. He strained muscles he didn't even know he had to full-on sprint. He could hear the heavy footfalls of something behind him, could hear deep panting breaths somehow over the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears and his own labored breathing. It was a long time before he finally had to slow down, a stitch in his side and his heart going about 500 miles a minute.

Stiles glanced around, the pure blackness of the woods only penetrated by the sparse star and moonlight peeking in from the branches above. He'd dropped his flashlight somewhere while he was running, and no way was he going back to try and find it. He shivered and shoved his hands in his pockets. He didn't hear anything, and it was cold, and he was most definitely lost. Could the situation get any worse?

He regretted that thought almost immediately as something slammed into him from behind and rough pain erupted in his shoulder. His head smashed into a rock as a heavy weight knocked him to the ground. He fought to stay conscious, but was soon lost to darkness.

Stiles woke with a gasp, staring up at the navy sky. He was alive? How the hell as that even possible? He blinked back tears of relief as he tried to sit up, hissing at the pain that erupted in his shoulder. He glanced down and grimaced at the putrid-looking bite mark. That would need disinfecting. Preferably soon. Preferably before his father noticed he was gone. Oh, who was he kidding? His father probably had every deputy already out looking for him. He needed to get home fast and cover it up before his father could see.

Of course it took him close to twenty minutes to find his Jeep; he got all turned around in the dark and between tree, tree, rock, stick, and fucking _tree, _there weren't exactly that many landmarks to go by. He finally stumbled upon it by the grace of pure luck and slumped in the seat, feeling all of a sudden out of breath and dizzy. He fingered the bite with a hiss of pain.

What was it that attacked him anyway? A wolf? No, there hadn't been wolves in California in sixty years, that was stupid. A mountain lion? If that was it, why didn't it rip him to shreds while he was unconscious? He was so confused. What kind of animal just bites its prey and then leaves it? He'd have to do some discreet research into it, as soon as he got home and took a hot shower and put on clean clothes and crawled into bed and...fuck, he still had to go to school.

He glanced at the clock on his radio. It was pushing 5:30 AM. He'd make it if he hurried.

His father's police cruiser was gone when he pulled up in the driveway. Stiles wasn't really sure whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, but he certainly thanked his lucky stars he could at least get in a shower and maybe hide the bite before his father saw. He bounded up the stairs to the bathroom and closed the door behind him, then locked it for good measure. Mostly for his dad but also because he had this slight nagging feeling like something was following him. It made him all itchy-crawly under his skin and he didn't like it.

Stiles shed his clothes, setting his shirt and jacket aside to throw away later, and then turned on the shower head. Lukewarm at first, when he stepped under the spray, then inching up in increments every few minutes. It stung his shoulder terribly but at least he knew it was getting clean. He scrubbed at it gently with a washcloth, wincing with each scrape against tender skin. When he was satisfied it was clean, he washed the rest of him, twice. That itchy-crawly feeling was still there, it made him feel dirty.

When he'd finally had enough, he shut off the spray, not even bothering to towel off as he surveyed the bite in the mirror. It was inflamed. Of course. He grabbed the bottle of disinfectant from the medicine cabinet and some cotton balls. Knowing it wasn't going to end well, he dabbed at the wound. A high keening noise escaped his lips as he pressed harder. He was never going into the woods again. Never, ever, ever...

A loud knock on the door made him jump and knock over the bottle of disinfectant. "Stiles? Stiles, are you in there?"

"Y-yeah, Dad, I'm in here! I'm fine, I'm just...fine..." He hurried to clean up the spill, shooting the door nervous glances even as he knew his father couldn't get inside.

"Where the hell have you been all night? You didn't text or call, I've been out looking for you for hours!"

"Dad, could you just, uh...give me a minute? Okay? Just one minute?" He was starting to feel a creeping panic up the back of his neck and had to bite his lip to keep from outright screaming. He couldn't deal with his dad and this at the same time, he just couldn't. Shaking hands reached into the medicine cabinet for his Adderall. He grabbed three and knocked them all back without water, swallowing them in relief.

He took his time in the bathroom, assuming the radio silence from outside the bathroom meant his dad was gone. He continued cleaning out the bite until he didn't feel like crying every time he touched it, then carefully bandaged it up. He finally grabbed a towel to dry himself (though he was pretty much dry already by then) and then wrapped it around his waist as he opened the bathroom door.

"That sure took a long time," his father said, standing directly in his path and making him flail and backpedal rapidly.

"Jesus, Dad! Can't a guy shower in peace?" He tried to shove past his dad before he saw the bandage, but that was pretty much a pipe dream because he noticed it almost immediately.

"Stiles, what happened to your shoulder?"

"Nothing. It's nothing." Stiles tried to elbow past him but his father blocked his way with both hands on the doorjamb.

"It's not nothing. Stiles, you're missing all night and you come back with a bandage on your shoulder...do you have any idea how worried I was? How worried I still am? What happened?"

"Nothing. I just...okay, I went out in the woods last night and I got attacked by something but it wasn't bad, I just got bit but I cleaned it, it's fine..."

His father's expression turned dark. "Stiles, let me see. Right now." Stiles couldn't disobey his father when he was like this so he peeled back the bandage a bit to show him. It was bleeding again and still a little inflamed but not too terrible.

His father, it seemed, felt otherwise. "That thing is infected. We need to get you to the hospital, right now."

"No, Dad, it's fine..."

"Get dressed. We're going." There really was no arguing with his father so, heaving a sigh at the unfairness of it all, he stalked off to his room. He chose jeans and a simple grey sweater that covered up his bandage perfectly, then met his father downstairs. He hadn't even changed out of his sheriff's uniform.

"So...I guess this means no breakfast?" Stiles said, his stomach growling mournfully as his father led him out to the police cruiser. His silence was answer enough. He made sure to whimper pitifully as they drove to the hospital.

Of course the first person he saw when he walked through the doors was Scott's mother. He pretended not to notice the way his father nervously checked his reflection in a nearby window. It was obvious they had some sort of thing going on (or, more accurately, his father hopelessly mooned after her) but Stiles wasn't entirely sure how to feel about it. It had only been four years since his mom died. It seemed a little soon to be moving on, but maybe that was selfish of him.

"Hi there, Melissa." His father flashed the cheesiest of smiles as he leaned on the nurse's station counter, trying to look casual but landing somewhere between pain walrus and desperation.

"John." She looked surprised, and rightfully so. Stiles waved as her eyes fell on him with a frown. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, everything's fine. Uh...I do kinda need to admit Stiles, though. He got bit by something nasty and I think it's infected."

Without another word, she stood and approached Stiles, pushing his sweater off his shoulder so she could get a good look at the bite. He let her, craning his neck to the side so she could get a better idea of it. She was the only person, besides his father and Scott, of course, that he'd let touch him so easily.

"You really shouldn't have tried to take care of this yourself," she scolded. "You should have come straight here." Stiles rubbed the back of his neck, laughing sheepishly.

"Yeah, I know..."

He sulked around a bit while she made a few calls and pulled some strings, getting them in to see a doctor much earlier than they would have if they had just waited their turn. Sometimes having your best friend's mother be a nurse was pretty useful, if not terribly conducive to secret-keeping. He expected a frantic call from Scott tonight or may he face the wrath of Stiles' scorn.

Stiles sat on the exam table and kicked his legs back and forth while his father paged through a magazine. He was in one of the flimsy green hospital gowns that everyone knew was just an excuse for the doctor to look at your ass (joke's on them, he was wearing his Batman boxers) and really really wishing he hadn't gone out in the woods for the umpteen billionth time. He knew he was fine. Better than fine. He was feeling great. He could barely even feel the bite anymore.

"Dad, you know, there's still a chance to leave. We could slip out the back, you could give Mrs. McCall your number, tell her to call you in a smooth James Bond voice, everyone lives happily ever after."

"Stiles, you're getting that checked out," his father said, pointedly avoiding looking up from the magazine as his ears turned pink. Stiles groaned and whined and kicked the table until the doctor arrived, and even then continued to shoot his father anguished looks to make sure he knew the extent of this torture.

"Good morning, Rupert. Sheriff." Stiles glanced up and immediately recognized the doctor as Derek Hale. Not that he knew him personally, but his family had lived on the outskirts of town for as long as anyone could remember. They were rich and well-liked, which begged the question of why exactly they lived in a place like Beacon Hills to begin with. Especially after the fire that had cut their family down to no more than Derek, his older sister, and their uncle. Stiles wasn't exactly an expert on trauma, but he wouldn't really be thrilled to stick around the place where his entire family had died. "Why don't you go ahead and take off your gown and let's take a look at that shoulder?"

Stiles sighed as he pulled the gown off his shoulders. "It's Stiles," he muttered, not really thinking the other would hear him. He jumped when he realized he was literally right in front of him. Man, that guy was sneaky.

"Okay. Stiles." He smiled as he peeled back the bandage and took a look at the damage. "This is actually well taken care of. How long did you wait before you came in? This looks like it's ready to scab."

"It happened last night," the sheriff said, finally glancing up from his magazine. "It was inflamed before I brought him."

"Really?" Dr. Hale peeled back the bandage to reveal little more than slightly pink, shallow puncture wounds. "Looks just fine to me. How did this happen, anyway?"

"I, uh...was out in the woods last night..." Stiles admitted, staring down at the bite. It barely even looked like a bite mark anymore.

"Really?" Dr. Hale's eyebrows knit together in a frown. "Did you happen to see what attacked you?"

"Uh...no, I...fell and knocked myself out."

"You what?" his father burst out. "Didn't you think that might be worth mentioning?"

"No, Dad, it's okay, I'm fine..."

"On the contrary...your father is right, Stiles. It's always best to tell someone immediately if you've experienced head trauma. Especially if it resulted in a loss of consciousness. You could possibly have a concussion." Dr. Hale looked concerned, but he was also looking at Stiles in a way that made him very uncomfortable. Not in a doctorly way. More like a predator sizing up its prey kind of way. "I'm going to need to check your pupils before I can let you leave today."

Stiles didn't want to agree, but he didn't really seem to have a choice in the matter, since his father wouldn't let him leave without a clean bill of health. He was still looking through that magazine but Stiles knew he wasn't reading. He knew hospitals made his father uncomfortable. His mother spent the better part of a year here after the treatments started failing, and a part of him had never really gotten over that fact.

"Okay, I just need you to look right here and try not to blink." Yeah, like blinking would be easy with a latex gloved hand forcing his eyes wide open. A bright light shone on his cornea and he flinched away instinctively. After a few seconds, long enough to make a spot on his vision, he moved to the other eye, then moved away entirely.

"Well, it doesn't seem like there's anything wrong, and the bite looks like it's doing fine. If anything starts hurting, come back and we can do something for it, but until then just keep doing what you've been doing and you should be okay." Stiles grinned in relief and hopped down from the table. Dr. Hale left the room to give him some privacy, much to his relief. Something about him skeeved Stiles out.

"Now how is it that that bite is almost completely gone after only a few hours?" his father said as Stiles shimmied into his pants.

"I dunno, Dad...maybe I'm just a really fast healer?"

"Stiles, you once had a paper cut that didn't stop bleeding for a week."

"Well that's..." Actually, it was because Stiles had a bet with himself to see how long he could keep it bleeding, so he kept biting it. "It doesn't matter. Can we go home now?"

"Uh huh." His father glanced at the clock on the wall. "Well, since you're all healed up, looks like you've got just enough time to get to school."

"Huh? But I thought..."

"Thought you'd get to spend the whole day at home?"

"Well, yeah..." Stiles pulled his shirt on. "Come on, Dad, I don't even have my Jeep. How am I going to get home?"

"Oh, did I forget to mention? You're grounded until further notice. No Jeep. I'll be driving you to and from school."

"What?! But...come on, Dad!"

"Better hurry before I make you take the bus." Stiles groaned long and loud and followed his father out of the hospital.

Life really was suffering.


	2. Chapter 2

His father pulled up in front of the school and shifted the cruiser into park. The front was deserted; the final bell had already rung and everyone was already in class. Stiles would have to get a late pass from the office. What a pain.

"Here. This is for your principal." He ripped a page out of his ticket book and scribbled something on it, then handed it to Stiles. "This should at least get you out of detention. I want you out here waiting for me no more than ten minutes past the bell, got it?"

"Huh? But...try-outs for first string start today!" Stiles was of course talking about Lacrosse, also known as his obsession. He'd been trying to get on first string for months, ever since last year's career as a benchwarmer didn't quite scratch the itch inside him that craved activity.

"Well, maybe this will give you time to reflect on your decision to wander out in the middle of the night," his father said, pinning him with a pointed look. After a moment, he reached out to squeeze Stiles' arm, carefully avoiding the bite. "Have a good day, okay? I'll see you after school."

"Yeah..." Stiles sulked as he pushed open the door, hiking his backpack up on his good shoulder as he stalked toward the school. His father was really good at guilt-tripping him. He didn't used to be that way; he usually let his mom do the punishing and was the fun dad whenever he had time off work. But ever since she'd died, he had to cover both their roles. He missed his old dad, but then again he missed his Mom, too.

After getting a late pass from the office, he slipped into Biology class and handed Mr. Harris the note. The bespectacled man glanced down at it with a haughty frown and simply pointed to his table. Harris wouldn't have wasted an opportunity to give him detention if he could; it seemed like he'd had it out for him ever since his Freshman year. He walked back to his seat, ignoring the whispers and glances from other students, right behind his best friend, Scott.

"Stiles," he whispered over his shoulder. "Where've you been, man? You weren't answering your phone."

"Long story," he whispered back, one eye on Harris. "Tell you after class."

He didn't bother taking anything out. There was no point in actually participating by that point. He drummed his fingers on the tabletop, chewed impatiently at his lip, and glanced up at the clock every few seconds, waiting for the moment they could be free and he could tell Scott everything that had happened. He was antsier than usual and glanced out the window hoping for something to distract his brain.

There was a girl outside, sitting on a bench out in the garden. He didn't recognize her, but then again he wasn't exactly privy to the whole female population of the school, and she looked like she was their age. Kinda cute, brown hair with a black denim jacket. Not really his type but not bad to look at.

"...already here, Dad, there's no use telling me to come back..."

Stiles jumped and looked around, but the only person in the classroom talking was Harris. Weird. That sounded like it was right next to him.

"No, I haven't found her yet, but I'll let you know..." Okay, that had to be coming from inside the classroom. How else could he be hearing it so clearly? He looked around the room, but nobody else was reacting. Nobody else even seemed to have heard it.

His gaze returned to the girl outside. She was on her phone, hunched down in some kind of private conversation. Was it...her?

No way, that was totally impossible. She was all the way outside, how could he hear her talking? He must have been going nuts, that was all. Yep, a simple case of delusion and slight schizophrenia. He just needed more Adderall. A lot more.

He continued staring at her, both trying to convince himself he hadn't heard anything and trying to figure out what she was saying, when the bell rang suddenly, much louder than he could ever remember it ringing before. He yelled out as he clapped his hands over his ears. Who the hell was responsible for that; were they trying to deafen the students?

"Are you okay, man?" Stiles peeked one eye open to find Scott's concerned face in front of him, a hand on his arm as he slowly uncurled himself from the faux marble tabletop.

"Yep. Peachy. Pretty sure my ears are bleeding and I'm probably having a psychotic episode, but nothing too out of the ordinary." He glanced out the window again, but the girl was gone. "Anyway...have I got a story for you, my friend."

"Yeah, my mom texted me saying you were in the hospital this morning. What happened?" Ah, Scott. Always dependable for a good mother-henning. It was one of the reasons they were such good friends.

"Well, see...there was this dead body..."

"You mean the one they found in the woods?"

"No interrupting Stiles during story time. Yes, the one they found in the woods. I went to find it last night."

"You went...out in the woods at night...to look for a dead body." Stiles didn't much appreciate his friend's deadpan tone and told him so. "Well, did you at least find it?"

"Ah...yeah, not...so much..." Stiles rubbed the back of his neck. "But hey, I totally got this wicked awesome bite from a wild animal that attacked me." He pushed his shirt off his shoulder and peeled back the bandage, only to blanch when he found only smooth white skin spattered with moles, and no visible bite.

Scott peered at him with a blank look. "Stiles, is this some kind of joke? I don't really get it."

"No, no, it was right there! I...ask your mom! She got a good eyeful of all the blood and grossness." He ripped off the bandage since it had pretty much no use anymore and held it out, revealing the dark red gore on its fluffy white surface. "Look, see, it was bleeding like crazy earlier!"

"Ew, okay, feel free to throw that away..." Scott held up his hands with a skeeved out look until Stiles tossed it in the trash can.

"Look, what I'm saying is that when I woke up after being attacked by some vicious animal, I had a gross oozing bite on my shoulder. And I'm not gonna lie, the fact that it's gone now is freaking me out a little bit and I really need your support right now before I run screaming down the street."

"What kind of animal?" Scott asked. He didn't really look like he believed Stiles. Not that he could really blame him. He was starting to wonder if he wasn't hitting the nail on the head about that whole schizophrenia-delusion thing.

"I dunno...a wolf, maybe? Or a mountain lion."

"Do we have wolves in California?"

"No. But there are zoos! And...uhh, pets maybe?"

"Uh huh." Scott frowned. "So wait, that's what you were in the hospital for this morning?"

"Yes! And your mom saw it and said that it looked bad and, and...look, it was there, okay? It was definitely, absolutely there like not even a full hour ago!"

"Alright, I believe you..." Scott frowned, holding his hands out as if to ward his friend off. Considering he was bordering on hysterics, that was probably not such a bad move. "But if it was there only an hour ago, how can it suddenly be gone?"

"You know, I'll get back to you on that after I'm finished asking my fairy godmother to look in her crystal ball." They entered World History class and Stiles dropped into his seat with a sigh. Then he jumped at the sight of a familiar face staring at him from the desk in front of Scott's desk.

It was the girl he'd seen outside during Biology class. Her gaze was steady and a little intense. Not exactly unfriendly, but definitely not friendly either. He gaped back for a moment, somehow sure that she knew he'd heard her talking outside and was going to kill him or yell at him or something, but then she just smiled and asked,

"Can I borrow a pen?"

He'd never seen his friend move so fast before. Scott practically dove into his bag, spilling papers and notebooks out onto the floor, emerging triumphant with a pen. He presented it to her with a shaking hand, and she took it with a smile.

"Thanks." As she turned back in her seat, Stiles could have sworn her eyes, which lingered on him for only a second, flashed red.

He helped his friend gather up his things. Scott was still kind of shaky, and his hands fumbled with his inhaler as he took a shot off it. Stiles knew those symptoms; his best friend had just fallen head over heels for the new girl. Cue the late-night texts and puppy dog eyes. He'd been through this dance before.

Stiles actually made an effort to pay attention in class, but for some reason he felt like he was being watched and just couldn't focus for very long. He let his mind wander again, staring around the classroom since there was nothing interesting outside, and his gaze eventually settled on Lydia Martin, settled in the back corner of the room and secretly reading a book under her desk.

Ah, Lydia. Lovely, beautiful, smart, wonderful Lydia. He'd fallen in love with her in the third grade, a love that had been going strong ever since. He never passed up an opportunity to tell her so, though she still refused his love and trampled on his feelings like a doormat. But that was okay; he had a ten-year plan, flawless and guaranteed to make her fall in love with him. He was nothing if not patient.

There was only one problem: her douche of a boyfriend, Jackson Whittemore. Also known as the captain of the Lacrosse team and the bane of his entire existence. She was gaga over-the-moon about that guy, for some ungodly reason. It was almost sickening seeing them together. His plan would work, he was absolutely certain of it, but first Jackson needed to get out of the picture.

"Mr. Stilinski!" Stiles jumped as his teacher, Mrs. Melon, snapped him to attention. She stared down the bridge of her nose at him with her pinched lemon face, the same face he and Scott had spent hours upon hours making fun of, only to get caught by her in the lunchroom and incur her wrath tenfold. "Perhaps you'd like to rejoin us down here on Earth where we're talking about Napoleon's rule."

"Yep. Totally. Fascinating stuff." Stiles flipped his book open to a random page. "Napoleon's...awesome. Short dictators are my fave."

"Really? Then maybe you'd like to tell us the year he first came into power as the emperor of France." Her words were haughty, as if she knew for certain he couldn't possibly know the answer.

Which, of course, he didn't.

"Uhhh...yeah...that's..." Stiles flipped desperately through the book, trying to find something, anything, about Napoleon. "Eighteen...ninety...two?"

"A little late, Mr. Stilinski." She smirked triumphantly. "Well, I suppose since he's your favorite, you won't have any problem writing a ten-page essay on him, now will you? Due Monday."

Stiles wanted to protest, but anything he said by this point would just make it worse. So he sighed, slid down low in his seat, and mumbled, "Yes, ma'am..."

She left him alone after that, but Stiles still cursed her in his head. An essay on Napoleon? He didn't know anything about him except that he was French. That would take him all weekend to do, not to mention his other homework, and he was already exhausted from his late-night adventure in the woods. Fuck her, fuck her, fuck her.

He seriously considered skipping out on the rest of school and just going home, but then he remembered his dad was going to pick him up, and he did not want to sit through that lecture. So he put up with the yelling from Finstock, getting milk poured down the back of his shirt at lunch, and the rest of the crap and the mind-numbing boredom the day had to offer. He couldn't even pretend to be interested. He was itchy-crawly, hella gross from milk, and just wanted to go home and relax.

Finally, finally that final bell rang. He didn't even wait for Scott before rushing out to his locker, though his friend was in hot pursuit.

"Hey, man, where's the fire?" Scott said with a frown, leaning against the locker next to him as Stiles frantically shoved his books inside the metal prison and picked out the stuff he needed to take home for the weekend. Which was a lot, apparently. Fuck you, Mrs. Melon.

"Oh, just the fact that my dad is going to gut me if I don't meet him outside in five minutes..." Stiles cried out as he dropped a book on himself in his haste to get it down from the top cubby. "Fuck...I'm grounded, by the way, so you're gonna have to rely on your bike until further notice."

"Oh. Because of the woods?"

"No, because I'm a perfect little snowflake that never does anything wrong and always does what Daddy tells me to do." He slammed his locker closed and rubbed his eyes. "Sorry, I'm just...really tired. I feel like I haven't slept in days. And I'm barely going to get any sleep as it is..."

"Excuse me." Stiles glanced up, surprised at the very female voice, and found none other than the girl from World History. "You're Rupert Stilinski, right?"

"Stiles," he quickly corrected her. "Everyone calls me that."

"Alright. Stiles." She smiled and Stiles could practically hear the synapses in his friend's brain snap from where he stood next to him. "Today's my first day, and I was wondering if you could maybe give me a tour of the school."

"Sorry, no can do. Gotta get home to lockdown. But!" Stiles slung an arm around Scott's shoulders. "This guy is the guy to go to. He knows all the ins and outs of this place." He practically pushed Scott forward and he stumbled a bit, just barely managing to stop himself from crashing into the girl.

"But..."

"No buts! There's no going back now! You're stuck with each other!" Then he sprinted off to the front of the building because he was two minutes over his time limit and he could just imagine his father leaning against the front of his cruiser with that judgmental glare.

When he got outside, though, he was surprised to find that his father was nowhere in sight. He didn't really have time to wonder where he was, though, because his phone started ringing and wouldn't you know it, speak of the devil and he will call.

"Hey, Dad. Running a little late?"

"Sort of..." His father sighed on the other end. "Look, I'm really sorry, but I can't get away from the station. Will you be okay walking home?"

"Uhhhh...I guess." Stiles was really glad his father couldn't see him doing a happy dance on the front steps. This was the best news of the day. "What time do you think you'll be home?"

"Probably not before midnight." His father skipped a beat before saying, "If I find out you went to Scott's, you're going to be in huge 're to go straight home. Got it?"

"Yeah, yeah. I got it, I got it." Stiles practically ran back into the building. "I'm on my way home now. See you later, Dad." Then he hung up before the sheriff could even say goodbye.

There was no longer any sign of Scott, but he didn't care because that wasn't where he was heading. There was just enough time to get to Lacrosse practice. This year was his year, the year he made first string, and he couldn't afford to be late.


	3. Chapter 3

"Wow, I don't think I've ever seen anyone actually crack a goalie's helmet before..."

"Oh my god, Scott, shut up!" Stiles groaned, gripping the back of his head in distress. "Danny already hates me, he's never going to talk to me again after this."

"Ignoring the fact that he's never actually said two words to you..." Scott's mouth quirked up in a smirk. Lacrosse practice hadn't exactly gone the way Stiles wanted it to. In fact, it hadn't gone the way he expected at all. It had been downright...freaky, actually.

He could tell something was weird the moment he stepped out onto the field. He felt focused and confident like he never had before, something he attributed to his drive to achieve his goal of first string. But then other weird things started happening. He was faster than he should have been. Stronger than he should have been. Which would have been fine if it hadn't freaked him out so bad that he kept tripping, or if he hadn't misjudged his strength and beaned the goalie in the head, possibly giving him a concussion and definitely earning the hatred of pretty much the entire team.

Needless to say, the coach wasn't exactly impressed with his ability to injure his teammates, so his dreams of first string weren't exactly realized. Which was, to say the least, incredibly disappointing.

"Maybe you just need more practice?" the new girl, name Allison, suggested. She had stuck around for practice because Scott wanted to watch, even though his asthma was acting up and he couldn't actually participate, and now she was walking home with them, between him and Scott, who was walking his bike along looking at her with this stupid little grin whenever she wasn't looking. Maybe she just didn't have any friends yet, but Stiles was a little skeeved out by the way she hung around them. And by the looks she kept shooting him, those were weird too.

"Yeah, a lot more practice. Tons more. Silos completely full to the brim of practice time. That's what I need." He groaned as he hitched his backpack up on his shoulders more. "I'm never gonna make first string."

"Aw, come on, Stiles, you can't give up," Scott said, breaking out of his Allison reverie long enough for some friendly encouragement. "It's like Allison said. Just keep practicing, and show coach what you're made of. Who else is he gonna put on first string? Greenburg?"

"Yeah, I guess," Stiles laughed. They came to his house and he stopped. "Well, this is where I get off. You two crazy kids have fun."

"Hey-wait!" Allison grabbed his arm just as he was turning away. "Is it alright if we hang out? Uh...I know a lot about French history, maybe I can help you with that essay?"

Stiles glanced back at Scott and his heart broke at his best friend's kicked-puppy face. If he could take all of Allison's obvious affections for him and direct them at Scott, he would, because no hot girl was worth that look on his friend's face, and anyway, as he said before, Allison was not his type.

"Sorry. I told you, I'm on lockdown." He tugged his arm out of her grip. "Anyway, don't want Scott to walk all the way home alone, do you?"

"He has a bike." Allison looked like she was getting impatient with him. Her eyes flashed red and Stiles took a startled step back. He definitely hadn't imagined that. Now he wondered if it was a good idea to let his friend be alone with Allison at all. There was definitely something weird about her. But he wanted to be alone with her even less.

"Uh...well...he...um..." He wasn't entirely sure which direction to go in here, so he just kind of stood there until Allison sighed and smiled and looked normal again.

"It's fine. I get it. Uh...see you in school on Monday?" Stiles shot her a halfhearted smile and a wave and watched her and his best friend walk off together, not sure if he was relieved or terrified. Maybe a little bit of both.

He went inside and went immediately up to his room, dropping his backpack on the floor and flopping onto his bed. He was tired. He was tired and he wanted to just go to bed and sleep forever and forget about bite marks that magically disappeared and essays on Napoleon and weird girls with red glowy eyes. He fiddled with his phone next to him on the bed. He could put off the homework, but he didn't want to fall asleep until he was sure Allison hadn't killed Scott and dumped his body in a ditch or something. After a reasonable amount of time (five minutes is reasonable when your best friend's life is in jeopardy) he texted Scott:

_How did your walk with Allison go?_

He pressed send and flipped over to his back to stare at the ceiling. He toed off his shoes at one point, half-curled in on himself as his eyes picked out little patterns in the stucco ceiling as he waited for a reply. He vaguely remembered dozing before the loud jingle on his stomach jerked him awake.

_it was ok she wdnt stop tlkng about u tho :(_

Stiles grimaced, both in sympathy and in horror. He didn't want Allison to be talking about him both because of his friend's almost obsessive crush and her absolute creepiness. But natural curiosity compelled him to send another text:

_Really? What was she saying?_

It was another long while before he got a reply. He almost fell asleep again before the text tone roused him with a groan. He forced himself out of the greyness of half sleep and into the waking world to read.

_she kept askig these rly wierd ?s about u like abotu ur dad and wht u do in ur free time idk_

Stiles frowned._ Did she know my dad was the sheriff?_ he typed out, sufficiently freaked out. He couldn't even fall asleep before the next message showed up.

_yeah she said ur dads were frends a long time ago_

Stiles had to read the text a few times for it to sink in. Their fathers were friends? He didn't remember his father ever mentioning being friends with a guy that had a psycho for a daughter. Anyway, if it was true, why didn't she just say so right off the bat instead of acting all creepy? He could have just asked his dad and wouldn't have gotten all weirded out.

Oh, well. Now that he knew that was all it was, he was a bit calmer. And Scott was obviously fine. He began to feel sleepy again and burrowed into his pillows. Nap first, then homework.

When he woke, his bedside clock revealed that it was 11:00 at night. His dad would probably be home soon. He had a little time to go downstairs and start dinner, assuming of course his father hadn't broken his diet and gone out to eat. He sat up with a wide yawn and a stretch, cracking his neck a few times before swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and getting up.

Then he froze as the hair on the back of his neck stood straight up. He didn't know how he knew, but somebody was in the room with him. It wasn't his dad or Scott, who sometimes snuck into the house through his window. It was someone strange. He reached for the lamp next to his bed, trying to remain calm even as he planned on grabbing it and smashing it against the head of the intruder.

"Don't," came a rough voice from somewhere vaguely across the room. More of a growl than anything, actually. "If you know what's good for you, don't."

"Who are you?" he said in a much shakier voice than he meant. His heart was thudding in his ears. "I swear to god I don't have any money. I...my dad's the sheriff, he'll be home any minute..."

"I'm not here to rob you," the voice said. It seemed a bit gentler, or maybe that was his imagination. "I'm here to talk to you, Stiles."

Wait, he knew that voice. He reached for his lamp before the person in the room could stop him and turned it on, flooding the room with light. Allison stood in the corner of his room, her arms crossed tightly and her head turned away from the light.

"Well," Stiles said after a full three minute silence. "I'm just going to go ahead and put it out there that I am extremely creeped out. How exactly did you...did you climb through my window?"

"Your door was locked," she said, as if climbing through someone's window was the only logical course of action. Well, actually, he'd done that to Scott a few times...but that was different, Scott was his best friend.

"Look, I wasn't lying about my dad being home soon. You should leave." Stiles cursed himself for the hitch in his voice that betrayed his fear. Fuck it, he was downright terrified. There was clearly something wrong with this chick. He sat down shakily on the bed. "I don't know why you're even here. Why are you here? What could we possibly have to talk about?"

Allison didn't say anything, just stepped forward slowly, her eyes on his shoulder. Apparently she was too uncomfortable to look him in the eye, wasn't _that_ a kick in the teeth?

"Has it healed already?" she asked, reaching out to grip his shoulder and squeeze. He jerked out of her grasp.

"Has what healed? I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't play dumb, you do." Allison's eyes finally met his, hard and flashing a definite red. There was no mistaking it this time. In the low light, her eyes practically glowed. "You were talking to your little friend about it. The bite, the one that healed inexplicably fast."

"Huh? But..." He knew she wasn't anywhere close by when he and Scott were talking about it, so how could she possibly know? Unless... "Do you know something about what attacked me?" he demanded. "Do you know something about why it healed so fast and why...why I can hear things I shouldn't be able to hear and do things I shouldn't be able to do?"

"Yes, I do know." She reached out to grasp his chin, forcing him to look up at her. "But you're not going to like it. And I doubt you're going to believe me."

"You know what? I'm almost certain nothing is too ridiculous for me right now." Stiles glared back at her defiantly. "So if you've got an explanation, maybe now would be the time to give it."

Allison released his chin and retreated to Stiles' desk chair. She fidgeted with the edges of her jacket and stared down at her hands. "It's difficult to figure out where to begin," she said slowly. "I'm not used to dealing with someone who was turned because of a bite. My family was born this way."

"Born what way?" Stiles said impatiently. "Are you here to give me answers or be totally mysterious? Because honestly, if we're taking a vote, I'd love for some answers. The mysterious thing is getting way old."

"It's not that simple!" Allison glared. "This all would have been so much easier if you hadn't knocked yourself out in the woods! I could have explained everything then!"

"Okay, so we've established you're the reason I woke up with a blinding headache. Thanks for that, by the way."

"I didn't...I mean, it was an accident..." Allison's expression twitched somewhere between guilty and angry. Stiles almost felt sorry for her. Almost. She took a deep breath and finally opened her mouth to speak...

"Stiles! You better be home!" Stiles and Allison both froze, panicked gazes fixating on the door to his bedroom, which was just slightly cracked. When Stiles looked back, she was halfway to the window.

"Wait!" He hissed, jumping up and chasing after her. "You didn't explain anything. Tell me what the hell is going on right now."

"There's no time." She reached behind her neck and unhooked the pendant hanging there, then handed it to Stiles. "Look up that symbol. Then you'll know everything you need to know. After that, come find me."

"How the hell am I supposed to find you? I don't even know where you live."

"Your lack of a response isn't exactly reassuring, Stiles!" His father's voice was closer now, the steady thud of his footsteps clearly discernible as he climbed the stairs.

"Trust me. When you want to find me, you'll find me." She slipped out the window and jumped to the ground. Stiles gripped the window sill and peered out onto the dark street, but couldn't catch any sight of her. It was as if she disappeared into the shadows. The sound of a clearing throat behind him reminded him of his father's presence. Not a moment too soon. Another few seconds and she would have been caught.

"Hey-ow! Fuck!" Stiles rubbed the back of his head from where it slammed into the window. His father, unconcerned, sauntered over to his window and peered out.

"Something interesting out there?" he asked.

"Uhhhhhh, nope...just thought I saw...a moose..."

"A moose." His father shot him a deadpan look. "Really? That's the best excuse you can come up with?"

"Wha...it's a legitimate excu-explanation!"

"Uh huh. So you weren't just making sure Scott got away so I didn't catch him here while you were supposed to be grounded?"

"Dad, come on. Would I lie to you?" Stiles put on his best innocent face but his father wasn't buying it.

"Next time Scott decides to come around while you're grounded, you can bet your ass you'll never see the light of day again." He made for the door. "By the way, I'm ordering Chinese for dinner."

"Wha-no! Dad, do you know how much salt is in those meals!" Stiles rushed down the hall after his father, falling into step just behind him. "If you eat that, your heart's going to go KABLOOEY!"

"You know, just once, I wish you were a normal teenager that got excited when I ordered takeout." His dad sighed. "Fine. What would you suggest?"

"I'll make dinner. Just...sit down, relax, take a load off." He left his father in the living room and went to make chicken salad, a simple and healthy recipe he'd found online. His father didn't mind it too much, so he could get him to eat it without complaint.

He slipped Allison's pendant into his pocket. He was burning to find out what was going on, but it would just have to wait until later.


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles jolted awake from his nightmare about wolves and glowing red eyes; about blood, hot and metallic, dripping from his mouth, and the feel of ripping flesh in his teeth. He lay panting in bed, rubbing the hot tears from his eyes, the chill in the air causing goosebumps on his bare skin. He must have forgotten to close the window last night. And kicked his blanket away in the night. He rubbed the tears away quickly and opened his eyes, expecting the sight of his own room to greet him as he reached for his comforter.

Instead, the cool morning sky, grey with the promise of rain, was all he saw.

His first thought was that a Wizard-of-Oz-esque tornado blew through and tore their roof clean off. But when he sat up to look for his clothes and only found crunching leaves and twigs stabbing him in the side, he realized that he was definitely not inside his room anymore.

His breath came in short pants as he fought down his creeping panic. If he didn't calm down, he was going to black out. It was times like this that he'd often steal a hit off Scott's inhaler to get his breathing under control, but Scott wasn't around right now, and he certainly didn't want to wake up in the woods _again._ He did the breathing exercises his doctor had recommended to them and slowly, slowly, the spots in his vision began to fade, and his heart stopped beating fifteen million miles an hour.

It was then that he realized that he was covered in blood. His hands shook as he stared down at the gore covering his hands, the blood and fur and mangled remains of a rabbit, and he realized that the taste in his mouth, which he thought was his imagination from his dream, was still fresh and wet and hot. He gagged, just barely managing to roll onto his knees before he emptied his stomach onto the bed of dried autumn leaves.

"Hmmm, looks like this pup's got a weak constitution." Stiles froze, hands clenching in hard dirt beneath him at the unfamiliar voice. Whoever it was, it didn't sound friendly. Every hair on his body stood on end, his every muscle screaming at him to run. But it was like he was trapped in place, whether by fear or some greater force unable to move. Something sharp pressed into his lower back.

"What's your name?" It was a woman's voice. He felt like he'd heard it before, but he couldn't remember where for the life of him. A sharp jab in his side pulled him back to reality.

"S-Stiles," he stuttered out between trembling lips.

Another jab. "Where's your Alpha, _Stiles_?"

"I...I don't know...what you're talking about..." He heard crunching leaves, and a pair of Doc Martins entered his vision. Crude steel-toed, homemade by the looks of it.

"Aw, honey, I don't want to hurt you." The woman chuckled, jabbing him again. Whatever it was she was stabbing him with didn't break the skin, but it sure hurt. Why didn't he sleep with a shirt again? "My brother, on the other hand, he definitely wants to hurt you. Now, I can call him off, but...you're gonna need to give me a good reason."

"Look, I don't know anything!" Stiles cried out, a little whimper of pain escaping his lips. "Please! Just let me go, I won't tell anyone about this, I swear!"

A swift kick in the jaw made him see stars, the intense pain confirming that yes, it was indeed broken. His ears rang as he found himself once again on his back, staring up at the cloudy sky as pinpricks of rain began to fall on his face.

"...think he's telling the truth. He's just a baby Beta, barely out of his training fangs."

"You're too soft on the pups, Laura. I say we kill him now before he becomes a problem."

"Oh, I'm too soft? He hasn't done anything, Derek. Killing him would go against everything we stand for!"

Stiles' head was swimming. He wasn't sure if he was really hearing the conversation or just imagining it. The haze of pain made everything feel fuzzy, or maybe it was just his wavering consciousness. A silhouette appeared above him, then another.

"He's already starting to heal. We have to do it now, Laura!"

"You know what? You want his blood so bad, you do it!"

Stiles could already feel the bones in his jaw reknitting, could see his vision clearing. A dark, fuzzy figure was standing over him with a crossbow aimed right at his face. There was a long moment where he felt suspended on a thread between death and life, where he was just waiting for them to pull the trigger and end it all. Then the crossbow was gone, and the two figures began moving away.

"We'll be in touch," a deep, masculine voice said as they walked away. Barely more than a murmur, but he heard it, the words meant for his ears alone.

It was impossible to tell how long he laid there, covered in drying blood, freezing rain, and a wet spot in his pants he tried to convince himself wasn't urine. When he finally managed to stand, it was on shaky legs. He still felt a bit woozy, and the thick metallic taste of blood was still in his mouth. It was all he could taste. It was all he could smell. Like a cloud hanging around his head that made him want to vomit again, only there was nothing left in his stomach to come up.

He felt something heavy against his chest and glanced down. Allison's pendant. The one she'd told him to research if he wanted answers. He'd been too tired last night, told himself he'd look it up in the morning. Now he regretted that decision. His numb, shaking fingers grasped the small silver circlet, brushing water droplets from its surface as he studied the design.

It was a wolf, that much was clear. And something that looked like a sun. And...chains? His brain was racing, racing to come to a conclusion he hadn't quite caught up with yet. He felt like he was just on the edge of a huge breakthrough, but couldn't take that final leap into discovery. He let the pendant drop from his fingers, and only then did he realize that he was moving.

He let his feet take him where they would, sopping wet sleeping pants dragging on the ground as his feet slopped through thick mud, giving way to concrete and asphalt. The rain came down harder, drenching him to the bone. The only blessing was that nobody was out to see him like this. He wondered where his father's deputies were. If they were even looking for him anymore.

Somehow, he found himself at Scott's house, standing in front of the red door he knew almost as well as his own. He went to knock, only to fall bonelessly against the door and slide down to his knees. His brain was on overload, and now it was shutting down.

He fell face-first into the carpet as Scott opened the door, reveling in the familiar smells of his best friend's house and the warmth inside. He felt himself being dragged inside, and then laid right side up so that he was staring into Scott's panicked face.

"Don't...don't call my dad," he said in a hoarse voice. He could see Scott's lips moving, but couldn't hear the words. Soon after, he passed out.

Warmth. Warmth and darkness. The taste of blood still heady, but now stale and musty. Stiles didn't want to open his eyes, even with the hand gently shaking him awake, bringing him so slowly back to consciousness. And a voice. So comforting. So familiar. So...

"Mom?" He blinked a few times, meeting the surprised gaze of Scott's mother. He tried not to let the disappointment show on his face.

"Sorry I'm not who you were expecting." She smiled sympathetically. "You're lucky you don't have hypothermia, by the way. You were damn near freezing when you stumbled in here."

Stiles' sluggish brain struggled to remember. The woods. The blood. The two silhouettes. A crossbow. Walking. Scott's face. "My dad," he mumbled, remembering his request.

"Ah. Yeah, about that...I know you didn't want us to tell your father where you were, but..."

"Is he awake? Stiles!" He'd recognize that voice anywhere. His father was here. He groaned and covered his face with a pillow. It was only when he smelled Scott all over it that he realized he was in his best friend's room. Strange; he was never so tuned-in to scent before.

"John, I don't think he's ready to talk just yet. Why don't we give him a moment?"

Stiles heard more muffled voices as they left the room, then blessed silence. He laid with his head under the pillow, breathing in the familiar, comforting scent. He remembered the pair in the woods, the one who had debated on killing him. He remembered the feeling of his jaw shattering. Stiles opened and closed his mouth a few times, expecting agonizing pain, but found none. It was all healed. Had it all been a dream?

"I'm worried about my son, Melissa, I have every damn right to be hysterical!" That was his dad's voice, no more than a loud whisper. He peeked out from under the pillow, but he was alone in the room. With a sigh, he laid back and closed his eyes, concentrating to actively tune in to the conversation.

"I know, John, I know, but I just need you to calm down. Whatever's wrong with Stiles, it's not going to be helped by you barging in there and demanding answers. He probably doesn't even remember."

"Then make him remember! Do some...medical trance hypnosis stuff. Find out who's responsible so I can violently arrest them."

"John, he's not even hurt. For all we know, that blood could be someone else's..."

"What's that supposed to mean? Stiles wouldn't hurt a fly!"

"I know...but John, we need to consider the possibility..."

Stiles felt the creak of bedsprings as someone sat on the edge of the bed, and jumped. For one impossible moment, he thought it was his father and Mrs. McCall, come to yell at him for eavesdropping, but he relaxed when he realized it was just Scott.

"Dude...what happened to you?" his friend ask, his tone laced with concern. "You went missing for hours, then you showed up on my doorstep covered in blood looking like you're on death's door."

Stiles sighed and shoved the pillow to the floor. "If I had the answers, I'd tell you." He glanced down at himself. He was dressed in a set of Scott's blue plaid pajamas, ones he rarely ever wore anymore. They were soft, and warm. He reached down under the shirt to find the pendant, but it wasn't there anymore.

"Looking for this?" Scott held up the necklace. Stiles sat up and took it, letting it dangle in front of his eyes as he studied the strange design.

"I saw it around your neck when you...um..." Scott rubbed the back of his neck. "I thought maybe you wouldn't want your dad to see it. So I hid it. Sorry."

"No, it's okay. It's not mine." His eyes went to the small sun in the corner. No. Not a sun. Maybe a...moon? "It's your girlfriend's, actually."

"Allison?" Scott frowned. "Why do you have it, then?"

"She gave it to me. Also gave me some cryptic instructions to research it if I wanted to find anything out. What am I supposed to do, google 'weird wolf pendant' until I hit something plausible? Please." A big, round full moon. And a wolf. His brain was trying to come to a conclusion again, practically pointing a big flashing arrow at the answer. "That girl's kind of crazy."

"I don't think she's...so bad..." Stiles smiled at that. Scott would never outright say he was wrong, even when it was to defend his crush.

"Yeah, well...she's something." He lowered the pendant into his lap, staring at it for a few seconds longer, before his gaze rose to meet Scott's. "Hey, what would you say if I told you...that I think I'm a werewolf?"

Scott stared at him for a full minute in silence. "I'm sorry, Stiles, I really don't get it. Maybe you should just explain the joke to me."

"No joke, amigo. I mean, let's look at the symptoms: bite from a supposed wolf that mysteriously disappears without a trace; sudden strength and speed that's conceivably impossible for me to have; suddenly disappearing into the woods only to wake up with the taste of raw rabbit still in my mouth. Plus, this pendant. Either it's werewolf or I'm finally going off the deep end, so I really hope it's werewolf, personally."

"But werewolves don't exist, right?" Scott was looking at him like he was mental. "Wait, you ate a raw rabbit?"

"Focusing on important details, Scott. I thought they didn't exist too, but it's sounding pretty plausible at the moment, to be honest." Stiles let himself fall back on the bed. He was surprised he wasn't freaking out, but maybe his brain had just filled its freaking out quota over the last couple of days. "I know it sounds really crazy."

"No. Well. I mean, yeah..." Scott glanced around. "If you say you are, then I believe you."

"Thanks. That...means a lot." He could tell Scott didn't really believe him, but he was trying and that had to count for something. He doubted he would believe it if Scott was the one this was happening to. "So how bad's my dad?"

"Worried out of his mind," Scott said with a wry smile. "He's been out looking for you since he went into work and noticed you were gone."

"Great. I'm sure the department is thrilled he's using his resources to find his spaz of a son." Stiles groaned. "I think I need to find Allison. She said she could help me."

"Do you want me to go with you?" Scott asked, a little too eager. But the more Stiles thought about it, the more he really wanted Scott with him. He certainly didn't want to face Allison on his own. Plus, maybe Scott would believe if his precious Allison was the one who said it.

"Alright, I'll call you later," Stiles murmured, just as he heard footsteps on the stairs. A moment later, his father opened the door, looking a bit calmer than he'd sounded downstairs.

"Are you ready to go home, son?" he asked. Stiles nodded. He didn't bother changing back into his soaking wet pants. He was keeping these pajamas.


End file.
